


Accord

by RussianWitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Werewolf accords, Chris really hates doing security.





	Accord

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

Slamming the door, Chris leans against it, imagining being able to keep everyone milling around in the hallway there indefinitely. 

He could live in this conference room, he figures, provided the secretaries and janitorial staff bring him food and do the cleaning, it wouldn't do to mark the shiny glass and chrome table with fingerprints or worse. 

"It is exhausting, isn't it?" Someone says from the shadows, "playing nice with everyone."  

Chris' hand is in the small of his back, wrapped around the knife that's his only weapon. They should have been unarmed, all of them, but how to disarm werewolves who have weapons build in? 

"Not a big fan of playing nice?" He asks the room, squinting into the darkest corner of the room from where the voice came. 

The man who steps into the light is all insincere smile and expensive looking suit. "On the contrary!" 

He doesn't look like much, except there is something around the eyes that sends chills down Chris' spine, "I always play nice—with the right incentive, that is." He stops, keeping the table between them. 

"Right." Chris forces his hand away from the blade, "so, you are with the delegation?" They reserved most of the hotel, so he can't be a civilian, that narrows down the options considerably. 

"An interested party, you might say." The wolf bats his eyes, trailing his fingers across the edge of the glass as circles the table forcing Chris to move to keep him in sight. 

"Right, well, I'm afraid 'interested parties' aren't welcome to the actual negotiations. You can contact your representative if you have any—," he swallows the rest of his spill when the wolf chuckles. 

"I'd rather contact you." He states boldly, almost twirling to lean back against the table, chocking his head in a way that could almost be mistaken for—Chris figures it's low blood sugar, because he absolutely can't be getting propositioned by one of the wolves, fifteen minutes before a delegation of hunters and alphas plan to sit down and hash out an accord. 

While he's still looking for the right words, the wolf's nose twitches, and his grin broadens. 

"We are supposed to become friends, after all?" He prompts batting his eyes. Chris' gut tells him that 'becoming friends' is the last thing the wolf wants, his dick on the other hand... 

Vic is going to laugh her ass off, he just knows it, especially if he comes home with a couple of chunks taken out of his hide. 

"I'll have to escort you out now, sir," he says as politely as he can, biting his cheek. 

"Will you call me 'sir' in bed too?" The wolf pushes off the table, and close enough to Chris that he can feel the heat coming off the shorter male. He can smell the wolf too, expensive cologne and underneath it just a hint of dog. Most people wouldn't notice, or just assume the male has a pet. 

The bold question brings far too many ideas into Chris's head, about using his knife to destroy the wolf's suit and getting rugburn on his hands and knees from getting reamed doggy-style. 

He shakes off the fantasies, remembering his priorities. 

No werewolf ass, or dick for him, certainly not so close to home and with Gerard in the same building no less. Chris takes the wolf by the upper arm that's hard as a rock under the fancy suit and pulls him towards the door. 

The wolf goes without a protest, right up until the moment Chris reaches for the door, before shrugging him off and slamming Chris into the heavy wood, pinning him there with his body weight. 

"You know," the wolf says conversationally, "I wouldn't be pushing—" he finishes with a nip at the lobe of Chris' ear, rubbing his nose against the side of Chris' neck, "if I couldn't smell you." The wolf forces his leg between Chris' straddling his thigh, uncaring that his suit is getting wrinkled.  

"Doesn't mean a damn thing, sir," Chris pants through gritted teeth, and the wolf barks out a laugh softening his grip. 

"No, I suppose it doesn't, except..." He feels human sharp nails in the back of his neck, and to warm lips on his teasing at the seam of his mouth until Chris yields, opening up to the wolf, cursing around the tongue he's sucking when the wolf grabs his ass and hoists him off his feet.  

It would be easy to give in, to yank the wolf's hair and shove a hand between them to muss the wolf's suit some more and get at his _skin_ , except that the wolf pulls away. 

"What the fuck!" He growls, trying to jerk the wolf back, but he's set on his feet again to slump against the door. 

"As lovely as this is, I don't think the delegations need a show," the wolf says, putting himself to right in a blink of an eye. Chris has to wonder if that's part of the werewolf benefit parcel. 

Unlike the wolf, Chris feels like a stiff drink and maybe a couple of minutes in the bathroom. 

Instead, he gets to suck it up and walk through a crowd of wolfs to his own people, knowing the wolves can smell him while acting like nothing happened. 

Only much later, putting his suit away does he find the card in his pocket. 

The room number is 6-66, it feels like an omen.


End file.
